Time and Space and Then Back Home
by karathenerdyone
Summary: Sherlock has escaped, but now he must finally go home. If he has the strength. A bit of Johnlock Oneshot.


John was tired.

John was always tired, it seemed.

John missed him.

Ms. Hudson was worried, she was deeply concerned for the younger man who lived in the flat above her. She had seen death in her life, and she had recovered. But John wasn't recovering. John would stay in the flat for days on end, holding the scarf, the skull, the violin, anything that reminded him. He would hide it whenever anyone came in, but John could see that his visitors could see through him.

He would have called it a deduction, John called it the way they looked at him like he was a lost cause.

It had been three months.

Actually it had been three months, five days, 21 hours, and thirty-two minuets. John knew, he had counted each day a thousand times over. Every time cursing the clock, wishing he could go back to that day and save him. Or even just talk to Sherlock longer, there had been many things that had gone unsaid.

Sherlock was safe, warm, and comfortable.

As comfortable as he could be, at least.

Someone Molly had introduced him too had helped him get out of dieing.

It was very convenient.

Sherlock had long since gotten used to this man's strange lifestyle, he had already been used to the running and solving crimes, now it just happened in space and sometimes at different points in time. Being with the Doctor made him almost forget about Moriarty and what waited for him when he returned to his own time, but he didn't forget John.

The man who would delete anything useless, he could never delete John.

Sherlock missed him.

Sherlock couldn't go back, not yet. He knew he had to wait a while until the press on him died down. He had to wait until Moriarty's web was finished, and until he knew were Moriarty was. He had to wait until John could forgive him.

The Doctor knew, Sherlock could see it in a thousand ways. But the easiest part about being with the Doctor was the he understood. He too, was running from something, if not from everything. The Doctor didn't bother Sherlock, he was like John in a way that Sherlock could feel comfortable around him, but he didn't feel like he could replace John. He was comfortable due to this man's intelligence that came very close to his own. But he was uncomfortable in the way that the Doctor seemed to understand him, it made him feel out of place.

The Doctor had other friends, a young couple from the same time as John, but they were gone now. Sherlock hadn't met them, it was a normal deduction. An empty bedroom close to the console room, random items. A hairbrush suggested that the female was a redhead. The Doctor was avoiding them, if they were not the thing he was running from. Sometimes he would accidentally start to address someone that wasn't there, and stop mid-sentence, with a look of utter and complete melancholy crossing over his face. Sherlock didn't address it, it didn't concern him.

"Where to, Sherlock?" the Doctor said, Sherlock's head snapped up and looked at the time lord. He looked excited, as always, but Sherlock saw the small lines along the edges of his eyes.

"Somewhere calm perhaps," Sherlock said, standing up and moving towards the console, taking his place across the Doctor. Sherlock knew how to pilot the TARDIS by now, it had been about three months in his personal time line. He had figured it out within the first few weeks.

"You know what I really want? Cake. I don't know about you, but cake would be delicious right about now." Sherlock just nodded and turned around, letting the Doctor deal with the mechanics. He picked up his new violin. He liked his one better, it was a stupid sentimental feeling that he couldn't seem to shake. He plucked a few strings before quickly letting it emit a long string of sad notes. The Doctor started to run around the console, pressing buttons and turning the monitor to face him as he ran around like a child.

"London, two thousand... fifteen or sixteen I believe. What do you think?" The Doctor said, his hand pausing on a button to his right. Sherlock stiffened and stopped playing, turning to the Doctor while still sitting.

"Why then?" He asked, trying to sound casual, but it came out much more defensive.

"I have some... friends I haven't seen in a while. We could arrange to get some of your friends too if you'd-"

"No." Sherlock cut him off. "That won't be necessary."

"Oh, okay. You can just stay in the TARDIS if you'd like. I'll bring you some cake." Sherlock nodded and picked up his violin, he wasn't in the mood to go and see John today. John would not have forgiven him yet. Moriarty's spy network might still be trailing him depending on what date it was. Even forgetting about John and what waited for him, Sherlock himself didn't know if he was ready. He was too confused, all these new found sentiments since he met John were shaking up his logical mind. The worst part was, Sherlock didn't always know which he preferred.

"It's April, of 2016." The Doctor said as the time machine landed. "If that matters"

Sherlock met the doctors eyes, but continued playing and stood up from where he lay on the seat next to the stairs. The Doctor had gotten used to Sherlock's moodiness and angst pretty quickly, but it had taken Sherlock a bit longer to get used to the Doctor's upbeat and excited facade. The Doctor smiled sadly and turned, strutting out the TARDIS door. Sherlock watched him go, still playing. As soon as he was safely out of the door, Sherlock's music slowed down and became more melancholy before he eventually stopped, dropping his arm to his side and lowering his violin onto the chair that was still warm from his body heat. He walked over to the staircase, pausing before turning back, his bow still in hand. He walked over to the TARDIS door and quickly swung it open in one fluid movement.

Outside lay nighttime London; but more expected was the TARDIS's exact coordinates. They were directly outside 221B Baker Street. Sherlock smiled sadly as his mind palace erupted with facts about the architecture, the people in the cafe below it, the exact temperature and day of the week, various memories, and then his eyes trailed up to the window of Sherlock's bedroom. The light was on, and John's silhouette was echoed against the curtain. He hadn't seen Sherlock, but Sherlock still flinched to shut the door closed.

With the door an inch from closing, Sherlock peered out into the night. He knew that no one would see him, but he had to make sure that John would not even have the slightest idea that he was alive. Not now, not yet. Not when he needed to stay out of London so badly. Not...

Sherlock paused, John's silhouette was leaning over, picking something up. The structure and flow of shadows against the curtains told him without words that it was his violin. His favorite one that he had ever owned. There had been others, but that one had a softer tone. It sounded smooth and sweet, but with the right decree of pride and strength to make it better than all the rest. It was a soldier, for putting up with Sherlock after all this time. He usually tended to stay away from such descriptions as love when describing something, but Sherlock had a prominent appreciation for the instrument. It was a bit like John.

This thought startled Sherlock, his head snapped up and he stood taller than before. He could not hold back his longing for any longer, it had been over three years for John, little over three months for Sherlock, but the desire to see John was burning threw him. The fire was raging through his veins and it would consume him if he did not go and see his old friend soon. Maybe more than friend.

With this though in mind, he made his way back to the welcoming door of 221B Baker Street. Purpose following his every step and happiness growing in his previously cold heart.

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><p>I hope you enjoyed! This was taking up space in the back of my computer so here you go!<p>

I love every single one of my reviewers, and i'd love it if you'd join them. Even for constructive criticism!

3


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